Life is but Death's beginning: How it all started
by LassieLowrider
Summary: Freya keeps on living her life, despite the death and ruin of all that she knows. Character death, fem!Harry, het, mentions Ron/Fem!Harry, Kingsley/Fem!Harry and various others.
1. Destroyer of Worlds

**No warnings for this, really. Fairytales, I guess.**

* * *

Let me tell you a story, a story thought to be nothing but a fairytale. The problem with fairytales, however, is that if you disregard them, make fun of them, in the end, you might find yourself living one.

You should always listen to them, that way you know what to do, when you stand there, handfallen, realizing you're living a fairytale - and not one of the good ones.  
Quite now, settle down, and let me describe what happens, when you let death become your life.  
Who's story this is? Why, it's mine, of course.

I come from a world, ripe with magic, filled with impossible feats made everyday business - a world where there were almost no fairytales, for nothing was wondrous enough. The few fairytales that existed, was thought ridiculous - artifacts with the power to make someone more powerful than Death? No, no, no.

Yet, I found myself the bearer of these legendary artifacts, and found myself more powerful than thought possible.

I am Death, the destroyer of worlds.

* * *

**Yeah, I still don't own this.**


	2. The Origin

**No longer a one-shot, and a bit edited (as of 01/09/13). Nothing much, but if you've read this before you'll notice a bit of a difference.**

**I don't own this, still, and it's fem!Harry with mentions of different pairings.**

* * *

They had been in the living room, having gathered all the family to tell them the happy news. They'd been sitting down, the small couch seeming even smaller when Ron sat in it, but Freya, instead, dwarfed by both him and the couch. Her hair was shifting through several colours, visible proof of her nervousness, when calm and stable, as she usually was, she had a far better grip on her talent than any other they'd heard about.

They had clasped hands and smiled towards their family - Hermione caught on before they even had the time to think of saying anything, a beaming smile slowly spreading over her face. She relaxed back into her husband, seemingly smirking at her friends - not best friends, she'd lost that privilege a long time ago, but they still counted her as one of their closest.

"Molly, Arthur. Weasleys. Spouses. People. Family. We thought we should inform you... of the fact that in eight or so months, there'll be a tiny Potter-Weasley addition to the family." Freya visibly braced herself for the explosion she knew was coming from Molly, but that was not the explosion that rocked the house.

Soon, there were multicoloured lights flying through the air, and a green one coming closer and closer to Freya.

Either she ducked, or someone tackled her - the last thing to cross her mind before blessed darkness claimed her, was that she was going to feel that hit in the morning.

When the Aurors arrived at the scene, they found a bloodbath. The entire lower floor of the ramshackle house was covered in blood, gore and scorch marks, a clear sign of violent spells being fired, and many of the younger Aurors noticed that their stomachs weren't quite as ironclad as they thought.

The Weasley clan was ended, the Patriarch with sons and daughter, their spouses and children, had been gruesomely murdered. It was scene that would haunt the responding Aurors for the rest of their lives.

When the immediately called reinforcements arrived, they started to look through the carnage. For every dead man, woman and child, the looks in their eyes darkened more and more, for they had been inhumanely slaughtered.

"I've got a live one, boss!" It swept through the team there - one alive, was it possible, could it be? Could it be that she, the Child-Who-Lived, the moniker she was stuck with, had survived the massacre? "It's Ron, he's unharmed, just unconscious!"

"Another one, guys! It's Potter!" Relief was abundant. "She's wounded! We need to get her to St. Mungos post haste!"

It was a rush, to get the survivors to St Mungos, the bodies bagged and the memories of the crime scene submitted to the Pensieve at the department, one of the few enchanted to not allow tampering with the memories.

When the healer who examined Ron affirmed that he was unharmed, only with grave magical exhaustion - grave magical exhaustion caused by using unparalleled amounts of combative magic - well, the logical conclusion, the head auror thought, was to take him into custody and put him on trial as soon as possible.

Freya, however, she was in a deep magical coma, her outer wounds easily healed. They put her in a bed in a private room, and hoped for the best, it being all they could do.

* * *

He knocked on the door, a quick, sharp, staccato beat. The girl who opened the door was tiny, to say the least. Black hair had been cut into a pixie cut, making it stand up all over the place, and she barely reached him to the waist, if that. She had the largest green eyes he'd ever seen, her mother's included, and she was not just pretty, like all little girls are, but beautiful, a beautiful hinting at being more so in the future.

"Hey there," he said, smiling as gently as he could and crouching down to her level. "Are the Dursleys in?" Her eyes widened impossibly much, but she didn't say anything, choosing instead to just turn around and leave the door open in silent invitation. He shrugged and followed the girl inside.

She'd come to a stop just around the corner, pointing in through a doorway to the room he assumed was the living room. Inside the room, there was a whale, a giraffe and a baby whale - sorry, my bad... inside the room the Dursleys were wasting yet another afternoon. He stopped at the threshold and turned around, beckoning for the girl to join him in the room. She hesitated, and he waved her to him again,

"I-I'm not a-a-allowed in there, si-sir," the voice was even tinier than she, and she was shaking, trying to talk through the atrocious stutter. He frowned in anger, looking like the mass-murderer he had been rumoured to be, and the little girl flinched, her entire body shrinking in on itself. Alarmed, he crouched down to her level again, looking her in the eyes.

"Hey, none of that, now. I'm not angry at you, hey, it's okay," he was basically crooning at her, hoping to calm her down and to get her to relax, to stop shivering bad enough that she looked like she was going shake into pieces. With an gentle, encouraging smile on his face, he held out a hand to her. Cautiously, doubtfully, she took a small step forward and put her hand in his. And so, hand in hand, Sirius Black and his, as of yet unacknowledged, god-daughter entered the living room of number 4, Private Drive.

They got but a few steps into the room before Petunia noticed them, clearly recognizing Sirius, being too shocked to warn Vernon. Sirius stood in front of the TV before the large man noticed him, Dudley beginning to wail at the same time, protesting the fact that he could no longer see the TV. Sirius looked at the child in disgust, it was obvious, even at this early age, that he was in grave danger for morbid obesity, clearly taking after his father, for if there was anyone supposed to be the front figure for obesity, it was Vernon Dursley.

"What?! Who are you?! How did you get in here?!" The man's default setting seemed to be slightly purple and bellowing. Sirius sneered in obvious disgust. " FREAK! Did you let him in?!" Sirius was sure that he soon would have his first accidental magic in twenty years if the man didn't shut up soon - calling his god-daughter a freak.

"No. I let myself in, Dursley." He managed to make the man's name sound like the worst insult, and Vernon obviously noticed, purpling even more, heaving himself to his feet, a feat which took quite a while, considering the man's enormous girth.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU FREAK!" He was bellowing straight into Sirius' face, spittle flying everywhere. Distaste spread across his face, and in a gesture of obvious, open defiance, Sirius pulled a handkerchief straight out of thin air. While he was drying his face, Vernon went even purple, his moustache quivering with the force of his rage.

"I am not a freak, Mr Dursley. If anyone is, then it is you. Abusing a young, innocent girl for something she cannot help, that is not normal. I will be removing her from your care. She is, after all, my god-daughter" Sirius could feel her stiffen as he said that and tightened his hand around hers in reassurance.

"Why didn't you take her from the start then? Why were we saddled with her for three years?" Petunia had overcome her shock, and now her harsh, grating voice rang out through the room. A slow, evil smile spread over Sirius' face.

"I was imprisoned, sentenced for the murder of thirteen people. Now, I've been let out - there weren't enough evidence to hold me any longer." The smile grew. "Considering I am the Lord Black, and acting lord of Houses Potter and Peverell, there was an outrage when the Ministry noticed the ... lacking evidence." Vernon paled, going a yellowish grey, a colour most often found in old porridge, and seemingly choking on air. He had connected the names. The girl's name was Potter.

"We will be leaving now." They left the Dursleys in the living room, Dudley trying to get any attention from his stupefied family, and failing. Sirius led the poor, shocked child out to the hallway, hoping that she would come with him out of her own free will, for him not to have to force her. They came to a stop right before the still open door, and, once again, Sirius crouched down to her level.

"Is there anything you would like to bring? Do you even want to join me? I'm sorry, I forgot to ask what you were thinking."

"D-do you re-really want m-me? Ca-can I re-really come w-with you?" The hope in her big, green eyes was heartbreaking to see, and so was the barely hidden distrust, the fear that someone would come and rip this chance out of her hands with a cruel laugh.

"Oh Merlin, yes, I want nothing more than for you to come live with me, and absolutely nothing would change my mind." She looked up at him searchingly, seeming to still be wondering if this was as good as it seemed, for, in her eyes, this was truly a dream come true. With a decisive nod, her hold on his hand, that she hadn't relinquished since he took it before the confrontation with the Dursleys, tightened.

"On-only Blankie." She pointed to a small door, just under the stairs, and Sirius found he could become even more discomfited, and if his nagging thought was true, then he could surely get even angrier. He almost marched towards the door, even in his anger making sure she could keep up with him, and opened the door - sure enough, there was a small cot, a few changes of clothes and a worn baby blanket in the cupboard. He almost started shaking with anger, only repressing the urge to curse the Dursleys so as to not scare his god-daughter He felt like crying, for no child deserved this. While he was cursing himself for being so stupid as to follow Pettigrew, she had darted forward to grab the blanket. She clutched it the her chest, looking up at him expectantly.

"Was that all, then?" He forcefully brought himself out of it, smiling kindly down at her.

"S-sir, may I-I just as-ask," she started, but then silenced, hesitating.

"Not sir, just Sirius. You can even call me Padfoot, if you want. And of course you can ask, you can ask me anything, any time."

"Wh-what is m-my name, Sir-Sirius?" At that moment, Sirius would have gladly killed the Dursleys in a fit of rage. She didn't even know her own name. He knelt down in front of her, straightening the rags she wore as clothes, and then hugged her. It was supposed to calm both him and her, but when she stiffened in alarm, it only made his anger worse. He kept on hugging her, and after almost a minute, she relaxed into the embrace, enjoying her first hug that she could remember. He leaned back enough to be able to see her, but didn't release her.

"Your name, sweetheart, is Freya Jayme Potter. Your mother named you for the Norse Goddess of Love, for you were loved from the very first moment we saw you. Jayme is in honour of your father, James. Believe me, Freya, you were loved. You are loved. I knew your parents for ten years, and I never saw them as happy as the day you were born. Come now, let's go. Let's go home." Freya was crying, but it was happy tears. She followed behind him out on the street, where she was swept up into his arms. She hugged Blankie even closer and laid her head on his shoulder.

She couldn't believe it. She had left the Dursleys! She had a name, and it wasn't Freak... Freya Jayme Potter, a name too pretty to be true, especially for her. The man, Sirius, was even carrying her, he said they were going home! She closed her eyes, just for a second, but she quickly and against her will fell asleep, the excitement of the day having worn her out.

"The poor dear, all worn out... what were you thinking, Albus? Leaving her there?" Freya woke up as she heard a woman talking in low tones. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes, and was surprised to find she was in a real bed, in a real room, and she wasn't alone. In the room, which was larger than any at the Dursleys', were four other people - Sirius was one of them, looking tenderly at her from where he was sitting at the edge of the bed. Two were women, one tall, thin and severe-looking, her hair pulled back into a tight bun - the other was shorter, plumper and dressed in a nurse's uniform. The last occupant of the room was a man, thin and tall, with a silver beard that was tucked into his belt and hair, the same colour, seemingly just as long. He had twinkling blue eyes, half-hidden by a pair of gold-rimmed half-moon glasses.

"Why, the little lady is awake! Hey there, Freya, my name's Poppy, I'm a healer. You godfather, Sirius, called me here to check you over, see if there was any problems. I'm glad to say, there were no unexpected problems!" It was the woman in the nurse's uniform that had spoken, and Freya relaxed just a little - she seemed nice. What Healer Poppy Pomfrey hadn't mentioned, however, was that the young girl was malnourished, but since they had expected that, there was no need to worry her, was there?

"And I'm Minerva McGonagall, a professor at the school your parents went to." The tall, severe-looking lady smiled at her, and when the wrinkles around her eyes became even more pronounced with that action, she looked very kind, and Freya couldn't help but smile back. The old man, maybe ancient would be a better description, took a step forward and caught her attention.

"And I, dear girl, am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the same school." When he smiled at her, his eyes lit up just a little bit more, and she couldn't help but giggle - he looked like Santa Clause!

The whole room seemed to light up when she giggled, for it was a truly happy sound.

Time passed, and Freya acclimatized to having a caring, loving, boisterous family, growing, filling out and generally learning how to be a child, something she had never had the chance to be.

It was the end of December, and Sirius had decided to celebrate both Yule and Christmas - some traditions from both, to make the transitions easier for Freya. Speaking of, the young girl had grown a little, filled out more and was generally happier than ever. Of course, she was still tiny, something that she would always be, according to Poppy, but that couldn't be helped, really.

They were in the lounge, Sirius and Remus, who had been extraordinarily happy when Freya had started calling him Uncle Moony - nothing compared to the elation Sirius felt when she called him Daddy the first time, though - and took to him and his reading like a fish to water. Sirius and Remus were amusing themselves by watching Freya flit from present to present, from ornament to ornament, just to peer closely at them, basically chirp a giggle and then move on to the next one.

"Don't tire yourself out now, honey. Remember, grandpa is coming, too." Albus had been shocked, but delighted, the first time she called him grandpa - of course, she hadn't really been all there, more asleep than awake, but the name had stuck, and now Albus Dumbledore was the ecstatic adopted grandfather of Freya Potter. "However, I do have a present for you already - nothing to unwrap, I'm afraid, but a present nonetheless." She hurried over to him, a wide, expectant smile on her face. A few feet away from him, she jumped and managed to land perfectly in his lap. It hadn't been long that she'd been daring enough to do that, but he delighted in it every time she did.

"Wha's it, daddy?" She had managed to get rid of the stutter in the almost year she had been away from the Dursleys', and now she was starting to adopt the slight Scottish burr all Hogwarts students left the school with. He chuckled at her enthusiasm, not something they often saw, even now.

"Well, you know how you're my god-daughter, but you call me daddy anyway?" He waited for her to nod, which she did, but oh so slowly. "Well, I was thinking... what if we make it official? What if I adopt you, and become your daddy for real?" Delight was basically radiating from her.

"You really, really want me?" The innocence was adorable, but the reason for the question made Remus shake in anger. It was close to the full moon, and he had a harder time than usual to control his visible reactions.

"Even better, I'd really, really like it if you would consent to being blood-adopted by me." Freya had spent enough time with her new family to pick up on most words, even if it was a little more archaic than she was used to from the Dursleys, but this escaped her grasp.

"Blood-adopted?" The confusion saturating the word made her even more adoring, something Sirius had actually thought impossible.

"I'd adopt you with a ritual and a potion, which would make you my daughter for real - James and Lily would still be your parents, but I'd be, too." Hadn't that been a shock for Freya, when she had been told that magic did exist, and she could use it? She was gradually becoming used to every-day household magic, but nonetheless, she sometimes startled horribly when something started to move on its own. However, one thing she had almost immediately gotten used to was the potions - Poppy had given her a strict potions regime to follow, trying to erase all traces of malnutrition and abuse from her. They had almost managed, but been a little too late - as a result, she would always be tiny. "You don't have to if you don't want to, of course, I'd be delighted to just adopt you on paper, little one," he hurried to say when her eyes widened in shock as she understood the implications of what he was saying.

"No, please, I want to, please!" She was hugging him with all her might, and he couldn't do anything but breathe a sigh of relief. "Can we do it soon? Please daddy, please!" Really, Sirius thought he had perfected the puppy dog eyes... until she learnt them and bypassed his by miles.

"Well I was thinking we could do it tonight. That way, it'll be over and done with by Christmas... if you want to, of course?" Sirius always made sure to ask her what she thought, because by taking her opinion into account, he made her feel like she truly was part of the family.

The ritual preparations didn't take much time at all, the runes drawn up in an hour and the potion thrown together in even less, but it was still enough time for Freya to start feeling nervous – not scared, never scared, and never regretting it, either. This was her family, and why not make it official, as well?

"I accept thee, Freya Potter, as the child of my blood, and gift upon thee thy heritage. I accept thee, Freya Potter, as the child of my magic, and gift upon thee thy cleansing. I accept thee, Freya Potter, as the heir of the Blacks, and gift upon thee thy name, Freya Potter-Black. Doth thou accept thy gifts?" Sirius was holding an old goblet, inscribed with ancient runes in a time they were merely runes. They were standing directly opposite each other, Sirius in the north and Freya in the south, in a huge runic circle. Even the circle was glowing, the runes painted with the same potion they were going to drink - the Familias potion was powerful, made with human blood, and imbued with as much magic as reasonably possible.

"I accept the gifts bestowed upon me by thee, and welcome thy blood, thy magic, and thy name." Carefully, Sirius handed the potion-filled goblet to the child in front of him. With a look of utmost concentration, she took the goblet and swallowed half of the potion before handing it back, Sirius finishing the ritual by drinking the rest of it. In unison, they spoke.

"So mote it be."

The glowing of the runes in the room stopped immediately, and the two smiled at each other - and collapsed.

* * *

She tossed and turned in the small hospital cot, unaware of doing so. The HITs, Healers In Training, was worried about her; who wouldn't be, when the saviour of their world was lying in the hospital, not quite comatose and not quite sleeping because of her husband's brutal attack and murder of their family?

* * *

She was fourteen the first time she kissed him, bestowed upon him her maiden's kiss - he had been shocked, honoured and confused, why would she, the heir to three of the richest and most influential magical families want him, want him to be hers? He who was the youngest son of six, he who had no chance to amount to much of anything... He'd asked as much, and she'd only smiled at him in that way she had, as if she saved all her smiles for him and him alone. They were in the Room of Requirement, the Room of Hidden Things, one of the best and most awe-inspiring rooms she'd ever seen, and they had Dobby, the strange little elf, to thank for it all.

While a Maiden's Kiss wasn't quite as binding as it was pictured in the books of old, it was still the magical equivalent of a promise ring, and that was quite powerful in and of itself.

* * *

She had calmed down, now, and was seemingly comatose. The door to her room was guarded twentyfour-seven by two Aurors, just in case there was someone wanting to finish the job her husband had started.

Then, she smiled. The Healers started to hope, maybe she would wake up. It was the most awake reaction they'd seen from her since she'd been put in that bed, and hopefully it was a good sign.

* * *

"I am truly sorry you had to see that, Freya. No child should have to see something like that. However, if I'm not being too forward, may we see your memories of the evening? You shall, of course, not be needed." Albus Dumbledore was an impressive man while happy, but when he was angry, he was formidable. Magic was gathered in a thick, suffocation cloud around the ancient Warlock, and everyone kept their distance - except Freya, who was curled into the headmaster's side, seemingly unaffected by the almost visible aura he was putting out.

"Of course you may, Headmaster." She barely moved from his side, just shifting enough to get her wand arm free enough to extract the memories.

The four of them, Sirius, Remus, the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall, entered the pensieve, and where not gone long - memories took far less time to see than to experience. When they got out, Dumbledore had gone from angry, bypassed furious and entered murderous. However, he had also gotten a lot to think about.

"If it is no trouble, and Freya doesn't object, I would prefer to speak to her in private." They all turned towards her, and she shook her head - she didn't mind, that just meant she'd be up a little while longer, be able to put off sleep for another few minutes, not have to stand the inevitable nightmares just yet.

Sirius just had one thing to do before they left, though.

"I'm so, so proud of you, baby girl. Just... think of your old man's heart, sometimes, yeah? I can't stand a heart attack now..." Sirius was glad to see his comment got his daughter to crack a smile, and was even happier when she hugged him as tightly as she could.

"I'll try dad. I love you," her voice cracked slightly with the force of holding the tears back, and both she and Sirius were teary-eyed when they pulled away.

As soon as the heavy oak door shut behind McGonagall, Freya turned towards Albus, hugging him with all her might. "I was so scared, grandpa." He hugged her back, not even wanting to consider what might have happened had she not reached that cup.

"I, just like your father, am so very proud of you, my dear girl. However, there was something I wanted to bring up with you. Tonight you showed an extraordinary talent for magical fighting, holding off twenty Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, something many Aurors would fail at." While talking, he led her towards the plush, red couch in the corner of his office, sitting her down and pulling her into his side. "I would like to offer you an apprenticeship. I have studied to be, and become, a transfiguration master, a master Alchemist and a warlock. I would like to take you on, as my apprentice, in all three fields."

Her shock was almost palatable; Albus Dumbledore had never even considered taking an apprentice before this. She answered, the only answer she could give.

"I'd be honoured, sir."

Training started when Hogwarts let out, and Freya found she like the castle almost better when it was empty of students – it was much more serene, that way.

Albus Dumbledore was old, but he knew what he was doing – he could have trained anyone, be they of low magical capacity or exceptional, but when he had something good to work with, well, all of a sudden, everything was much easier.

* * *

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you are hereby found guilty of eleven counts of murder, and one count of severe assault. The punishment for this horrendous deed, is the Dementor's Kiss. Aurors, bring in the dementor." Had Ronald Weasley been any less of a man, had Ronald Weasley been any other man, he wouldn't have been standing there, tall, quiet and stoic, awaiting an unfair fate. He only hoped that she, his wife, his love, would forgive him when they met in heaven, for heaven was at least her destination - hoped she would forgive him for dying, for with his death, he brought hers.

The dementor entered the cold, silent court room, making it even colder. Soon, the ice started creeping its way over the floors and walls, the spectators not physically affected, guarded by powerful wards. Ron was not that lucky. He soon started shivering, both because of fear and because of the chill that was permeating the air around the dementor. The great ugly creature reached him in gliding movements, and Ron gulped. He steeled himself, telling himself that he wouldn't show any weakness in the face of death, for his love hadn't. The dementor had reached him, and bent towards him while lowering its hood.

The last thing Ron Weasley ever saw, was the inside of a dementor's hood, and the abomination that exists therein.

* * *

She woke up. It felt rather anticlimactic, what with the last thing she remembered was being in the middle of a fire fight, but now, it was all silent and white. Too white. Even for a hospital, which is where she'd expected to wake up, it was simply too white. She stood up, realizing she appeared to be naked, and found herself standing in the middle of a cloud. Or something similar. That was the only viable explanation, really, because otherwise she was standing, floating, hovering, in the middle of a white void, naked, alone and unarmed.

She then made an even more alarming discovery - the bonds were gone. The bond to her husband, the bond to her Ron, the bond that had been there since before the Yule Ball in fourth year, was gone, broken, the shards of it cutting into her heart. The other bond, more newly formed, wasn't just broken, it had been obliterated, torn from existence - she could no longer feel the undeveloped magic of her unborn child, a sensation she had gotten used to so fast.

She fell to her knees, clutching at her chest, trying to rip her heart out, because maybe then the pain would end. Freya Potter had loved and lost more than any twenty year old should have had to, and the death of her unborn child, that was the straw that broke that camel's back.

She was sobbing, rocking back and forth and still clawing at her chest when she was enveloped in someone's arms - arms she had no recollection of ever feeling, but instinctively knowing who's arms they were. She turned towards the other woman, tucking her head into her shoulder, and for the first time ever, Lily Potter was able to hold her daughter while she grieved.

When the tears abated, the grief not gone but the heart oh so tired, Freya pulled away, instinctively imaging being shrouded in robes similar to what her mother was wearing. The two women, similar in both age and appearance, studied each other, and Freya smiled, a lopsided, crooked smile.

"When, if, I imagined dying, this was not what I was expecting on the other side. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but it's unexpected." Lily grinned a carefree grin, freely stolen from her mischievous husband, and just hugged her daughter again, delighting in the chance to do so.

"No, I imagine not, but it was decided that I was the best one to explain it all to you." If Freya had been anyone else, if she hadn't lived the life she had, then she would have dismissed the momentary foreboding feeling of extreme doom that hit her - but she knew better. She was Fate's personal little chew toy, and god forbid the deities lost their entertainment. She didn't speak, letting her raised eyebrow say all the words she didn't have the energy to verbalize.

"To start with, yes, you're dead. But no, you aren't dead. The bond with Ron was broken because he received the Dementor's Kiss, accused of the massacre that, sadly, left no Weasley - except Ron - unharmed." Lily spoke with a gentle frankness, but Freya was too numb to appreciate the effort. "This is the second time you've died now, darling. You get three shots at life, and then it's over. Most have no recollection whatsoever about their being dead, but you will remember this time. The first time was when the Killing Curse failed - or rather, killed you and then rebounded onto him. You were dead but for a minute, but enough to register you as dead. Now this is your second time, your soul torn asunder and life force drained when your bonded died. You've got one more chance, one more time to do what you're meant to do." Lily checked to make sure her beloved daughter was following, Freya was focusing through her pain and sorrow to listen to her mother, feeling as if the information imparted would help her.

"Also, you carry the Hallows. Had you not, this wouldn't have happened to you. Now, now, you're the Master. You are allowed to remember this because of that single fact." Light dawned in Freya's eyes, so similar yet so different to Lily's own.

"The Master of Death... what does it entail? Mum, will I ever join you?" Lily looked pained, felt the pain her daughter was feeling so acutely, and knew what she really was asking.. Will she ever know peace?

"Of course you will! You're just going back now, remembering this, and some few, extra perks - better control of magic, the ability to use Hell Fire and a peak in your Metamorph abilities. Nothing too serious, you're just getting slightly more powerful, dear. You'll age, grow up, and die, just like everyone else. You're just getting another shot at life with a bit more knowledge than most." Had Freya known Lily better, she would have seen the light in her eyes, the glint promising that she wasn't saying quite all she knew.

"Okay then. Since I'm dead already, I suppose no time is passing while I'm here? If that is the case, I'd much appreciate to meet my family again." Freya smiled a wan smile.

"We're already here, honey." It was her father, her real father, James, that spoke first. She whirled around, and there, spread out behind her, was her entire family - Potters were side by side with Weasleys, Blacks getting on with muggles, Dumbledores shaking hands with Peverells. Never before had Freya been as happy as she was when being passed around the crowd for hugs from everyone. Then, she came to Ron, and everyone else pulled away, keeping a respectful distance, enough for them to talk unheard. They studied each other for awhile, and then they fell into each other's arms, trying to gain what little comfort from their spouse that they could.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry," he whispered into her ear, not releasing her.

"Did you kill them?" She just hugged him tighter.

"No, but I couldn't defend them - I couldn't defend you!" The despair was thick in his voice. "I couldn't even defend myself - they didn't let me defend myself."

"No, Ron, don't. They didn't let you give your view of what happened, they didn't let you defend yourself, it's not your fault!"

"But..." He seemed to be fully intent on blaming himself for everything wrong in her life. "But I couldn't protect you from them! I couldn't protect anyone from them..."

"Who are they, Ron? Honey, who attacked us?" She urged him on after he trailed off, hoping to find out names, to find out who she was going to kill as soon as she was back in the land of the living.

"Death Eaters...I did not recognize all of them, but I'm sure Lucius Malfoy was one... I think Dolohov was another." She kissed him, then, the kiss she knew would be their last. He seemingly knew it too, and kissed her with all the despair and passion he was feeling.

"Move on from me, Freya. Promise me that you won't wallow in this. Find another love, find another happiness, and find another family to call your own." She smiled, a sad, tearful smile, and nodded to him. In her eyes, that was his last request, and she would do what she could to honour it.

"It's time." She was not sure who said it, but it was true. She could feel herself fading already. She gave one last tearful smile to them all, to her family, as she became more and more transparent.

The last thing she saw, was her parents and grandparents, all of them, smiling and waving at her. However, even after it all had faded to black, she head a voice, achingly familiar, shout out "See you on the other side, kid!".

* * *

A minute after her heart had stopped beating, it began again. Thu-dum, thu-dum, thu-dum. It echoed in her ears, and it's resonance reached the floor Healer, who had been rushing towards her room, having thought her dead. When the monitoring spell once again rang with the healthy beating of her heart, he slowed down, thinking that the spell simply had malfunctioned. For safeties sake, he still made his way to the room. There, he found Lady Potter-Black sitting up, looking around, for the first time in a week.

She was disoriented, something he dismissed as a simple bi-effect of having been in the same position, basically sleeping, for a week - she knew what had caused it. It is, after all, not every day that you wake up from the dead again.

The Healer did a routine check-up, finding no problems with her, and after pouring a few potions down her throat, left the room. However, she was not left alone for long. Almost as soon as the door had swung shut, it opened again, and this time it was the Head Auror that entered.

"Hello Lady Potter, it's a pleasure to see you awake once again."

"Oh, stop the formalities, Kingsley. What do you want?" She knew she was one of the few who was allowed to call him by his first name - it'd been she, Albus and Mad-Eye who had had that privilege during the war.

"I want to know who killed you family. It was not Ron, trust me, I know that much. However, no one believed me on that, after all, I'm just the Head Auror." The wry sarcasm saturating his words made her laugh, but it was a short, bitter laugh. "I must ask though... do you remember anything, Freya? Anything at all?" She could see it pained him to ask, not wanting to rip up barely scabbed over wounds.

"Nothing, Kingsley. A green flash, and someone tackling me to the ground. After that, it's all just... black. Where... where is Ron?" She thought she put on quite a convincing show, actually. Of course, she knew already where he was, and had grieved for him while in Limbo, but she couldn't really tell Kingsley that, could she? The large black man winced at her question, knowing she wouldn't like the answer.

"They had him Kissed. I'm sorry, Freya, I really tried. They just wouldn't listen to me," he was basically begging her to not be angry at him, but he knew he probably would deserve it. Merlin knows he was beating himself up over it enough as it was. He was shocked to see her nod in obvious acceptance of the fact. He could see pain flash through her eyes before she slammed her occlumency shields up as far as they could go - even he, who was by no stretch of the word a Master Legilimens, winced at the force she used.

"I thought so, yes. The bond's broken." Kingsley flinched at that; he, himself, had been bonded once, by blood to a man he considered a brother, and when that bond had broken, it had felt like his heart was going to be torn apart - and that had not even been a bond formed like theirs had been. He looked searchingly at the woman he considered one of his closest friends, and saw the pain she had almost managed to hide. He swore, and gathered her into his arms. He was not very surprised to find that she, who otherwise was so very strong, started sobbing into his shoulders, clutching at his back.

"It-it hurts, Kingsley. It's just shards left of the bond, and they're stabbing at my heart and it hurts so bad," she was basically wailing into his shoulder now, and he had never been so glad for standard procedure being to use a silencing charm when interrogating as he was now.

It was a long while before she stopped crying.

"I'm sorry, Kingsley, I shouldn't be using you as a human handkerchief..."

"It's fine, Freya. I've been used as worse. I must ask, though... what are you planning to do now?" He was almost scared of the slow, evil smile that spread over her face. It wasn't aimed at him, however, so he felt reasonably secure. What he didn't know, however, was that that very smile was the same smile she wore when she made Bellatrix drown in her own blood, the same smile she wore when she enchanted Wormtail's silver hand to disembowel him and then force his innards down his throat, it was the same smile she wore when binding Fenrir Greyback and then injecting him with molten silver, and it was the same smile she wore when she dismembered and killed Severus Snape. In short, it was a very scary and bloodthirsty smile.

"I will find the ones who did it, the ones who orchestrated it, the ones who ordered it... and then, I will kill them."

* * *

She had fixed the old Black House up after the war, having nothing better to do with her time, refusing to become an auror. The Black House, Grimmauld Place 13, was where she now retreated to be left alone. No one knew where she was - well, no one alive did, anyway. She stumbled through the door, and managed to stumble again, even as she stood basically still.

The thing she had stumbled over shifted, gave a silent growl and went back to sleep. With a gasp, she stood up, backing away from the dark shape lying on her welcome mat. It was a dog - no, it was a grim. Worst of all, this particular grim was very recognizable. She poked him a few times, carefully, urgently whispering "Padfoot!", trying to wake him. She didn't know why she was whispering, maybe it felt better that way, and finally, finally the beast became aware. He gave her a doggy grin when he localized her as the disturbance, and with an expression of amazing effort, the creature turned into a transparently silvery Sirius.

"Hey kiddo! Told you we were going to see each other out here! Now, quick run through of the rules - I'm solid as Padfoot, transparent and useless as ghost. Being a ghost takes tremendous effort, but they allowed it today for me to explain the situation. As the grim, I'm your...agent? Can we call me agent? Pet sounds so demeaning... Well, anyway, I'm here to help you out and make your life a little easier!" With a wide smile, Sirius once again shrank down to Padfoot, the smile transferring to his animagus form - the grim was not a good choice for an animal if you chose it depending on it's ability to smile.

She gave him a rueful smile. She should have expected something like this, really. No matter what he did, he couldn't give clear, concise directions regarding anything, if he so was reading straight from a book, and he confused as many people as possible, simply because he could. And that was the kind of person that was her chosen father... dear lords and ladies above. Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em - after trying several times more, of course, no one likes someone that gives up after the first try! And, well, it was only fitting, after all, that the Master of Death have an omen of death as her companion, wouldn't you agree?

* * *

The very next day, she started to plan. She had, of course, a reasonably good idea of who was behind the relentless slaughter of her family, but she wanted to find out who held the wand and who planned it - ordered it, that was surely Voldemort. No other person alive still nurtured that kind of vendetta against Freya and her family as that man, as that monster, did. However, she had a plan.

She was going to flush them out, kill them one by one, annihilate the Dark Order. She was going to use the darkness against them, attack when they're on raids... she was going to leave not a single Death Eater alive, and then she was going to crush Voldemort himself, like the ant he is.

With a sinister smile, she called for Kreacher and Dobby. They both wanted revenge on the Death Eaters, and probably knew other house elves that wouldn't mind helping them.

It didn't take long before she had told those in the Order she trusted what she was planning - Kingsley, Minerva, Alastor, Filius, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot - almost all of those she trusted unconditionally in the Order died during the Weasley Massacre, as it was called. However, she managed to convince both Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom to come back and take action, now, when they had something to fight for and someone to fight under. Now, when the losses were what they were, even the most staunch supporters of giving second chances were out for blood, and Freya looked forward to giving her Warlock powers a good workout.

* * *

She was meditating, the day she found them. The remains of the bonds. They were jagged and blackened, as if they'd been crushed and then burned – however, the most alarming thing was the weak tendril of bond that still held true, looking like a mockery of a soul bond.

With a horrible feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, her mental self turned towards the bond she knew had tied her to Ron, and stroked it with her hand and her magic. It wasn't forced, oh no, had it been forced the bond never would have formed. However, it was coerced, and she felt the tang of love potions echoing through the broken remains.

With a broken heart, she pulled herself out of her own mind, and laid and cried. Once upon a time she had loved Ron, out of her own free will, but now... he had fed her potions, forcing her to ignore the one she should have been with; forcing her to ignore her own soulmate. Ron had taken advantage of the Maiden's Kiss, using bond strengthening potions and love potions to have her as his own – to keep her as his own.

Maybe it was for the best that he had died... it saved her the trouble of killing him, herself.

* * *

Killing people, that was easy. Killing Death Eaters, however... that was easier, and a real pleasure to do. She attacked in the cover of the dark, sometimes alone and sometimes joined by a select few.

Gruesome scenes, no mercy granted to the victims, had played out all over the British Isles. She didn't feel guilty, killing the minions of Voldemort. They felt no guilt while killing her family, so why should she mourn the deaths of monster?

She was soon known as a Phantom, knowing almost before the Death Eaters where next raid would be, and attacking, quick and deadly, from the shadows, leaving none alive. She left behind inhuman scenes of death and murder, blood running like water - for years after, the ground would be stained with the blood, everything refusing to grow there. Even after centuries passed, if anything were built there, fences, sheds or houses, nothing, nothing, would remain standing for more than a week. It was cursed ground, the blood of murderers and betrayers poisoning it. Sensitive magic users could, even millennia later, feel the traces of evil lingering in the air still.

Evil blood was being spilt by the bucketful all over the Isles, the common man not noticing a thing, except to remark upon the fact that it was a lot fewer murders and stuff, nowadays, wasn't it? Yes, evil blood spilled, to avenge the innocent blood since long dried and mourned - it made not the grief easier to bear, but the dark satisfaction made them sleep easier at night.

* * *

During the training Freya put her Order through, they all grew closer. It did not take long before she called Neville and Luna her brother and sister, she and Minerva, the woman she had called grandmother for a long time now, growing closer and healing each other after their many losses.

Alastor and Filius were soon beloved uncles, Susan and Hannah the girls she could always talk to... but Kingsley, Kingsley was her closest friend, the one she could talk to about anything and everything.

They just clicked, and even if he hadn't realized it, she did, soon enough.

He was her soulmate, the other half of her, the one that Ron had refused to let her have.

* * *

The duel was closer to a clash of titans, raging through most of the levels in the Ministry - it had started by the Veil, and then they had fought, hunted and cursed their way through the entire underground building, unforgivables, prank spells and harmless jinxes flying through the air, almost without pause. But Voldemort was tiring quickly, it was obvious, the unforgivables not quite as strong, the comebacks not quite as fast. Voldemort realized just as quickly as Freya did that she had the better hand, at the moment, and he quickly took off towards the elevators, the anti-apparition wards hindering him just as effectively as any other wizard, running away from a girl a fourth his age. She caught up to him in the Atrium, the only still untouched room in the Ministry. It didn't stay that way for long.

It was a classically dark and stormy night out, fitting the mood of the day perfectly. They had been fighting for hours now, the upper echelons of the Order keeping the few remaining Death Eaters busy - it was no even match, the Death Eater the very lowest dregs of pureblood society Voldemort could find, while the Order was the most skilled wizards and witches from all over, joint together to fight evil. It sounded horribly cliché, but it was true.

In the Atrium, now, there were Unforgivables, interspersed with magic dark and esoteric, flying, the combatants, because this was a battle and not a duel, barely seeming out of breath - the two knew better, however. Voldemort was old, and now even his rituals failed him, making him tired and leaving him out of breath from the sheer speed he was casting at. Freya had lost some blood, a deep cut on her thigh inefficiently cauterized by one of the few field healing spells she knew - still, she was faring better than him, her magic reserves bigger than his and her physical shape much superior to his. She had kept him steady on the defence since the very beginning of the fight, and now she was taking to the more advanced spells, spells thought forgotten since ages, hoping to finish this quickly.

However, Voldemort would not take his death lying down, but even then, he knew he was outclassed. However, he had one last ace up his sleeve, an ace he thought she could impossibly defeat. He used it, the most unforgivable, unforgiving magic, giving up his own life was a small price to pay to kill her, and this was something she couldn't handle, something she couldn't fight... when drawing the rune, saying the words, he laid the foundation to his own downfall, for he never should have used it, because she could, unlike him, control it. In his delusion, in his thinking he was a God unparalleled by any other, in his arrogance, he thought that no mere slip of a girl could use the magic he couldn't, never thought she'd be able to control the arcane energies.

Fiendfyre, crimson and unforgiving, roared out of a yew wand, a wand that soon became scorched with the heat pouring out of it. She couldn't believe that he had the guts to use it; however, it was red, showing her he had not control of it, didn't use it enough to become its master... She huffed a short laugh, looking through the heat and flames into red eyes, smirking at her. She smiled back, the kind of smile she wore when ending an enemy, and drew the rune. She didn't need to, of course, she could control this brand of Hell Fire, no problem, but she liked to see the panic grow in his eyes as he realized what she was about to do.

Black flames, flames shaped like dragons, chimeras, phoenixes, sphinxes and god knows what else, poured out of a wand made of elder and thestral, the carved elderberries seemingly pulsating with the amount of magic being channelled through the wand. The black flames soon overcame the red, and it didn't take long before Voldemort was surrounded by the ever-growing, roaring fire. She exerted her control, forcing the flames to shrink just a little, just enough for her to see him. He looked up at her, the fear stark in his eyes as he knelt, the exhaustion of using too much magic quickly taking him over, and she smiled at him. Mouthing a silent good-bye, she let the flames go. Lord Voldemort died screaming, his core burning him from the inside and fiendfyre from the outside, his enemy and vanquisher watching all the time, the feeling of satisfaction growing in her. When the screaming stopped, she let the flames die down, and she slumped into a sitting position against the wall, exhaustion taking her over.

"It's over..." She tried the words out, tasting them on her lips. She gave a relieved laugh, almost screaming the words. "It's over!"

That's how the Order found her, slumped against a charred and scorched wall, laughing in relief and exhaustion. She smiled at Kingsley as he knelt down at her side, seeing the worry in his eyes.

"It's over, Kingsley..." Her eyes closed, but she opened them halfway again. "Did I tell you I love you?" she said, and then fainted onto his shoulder.

* * *

Freya was old, and not in the least sad to die. She had lived her life, a life full of love and magic, even if her oldest friends had been lost early on, and she was satisfied as she breathed her last. Her regret, the only regret she still had after centuries of living, was that she never was able to give Kingsley a child.

And then, she woke up. It was a place deeply familiar to her, even if she had not seen it for more than a hundred years. The void, white and dull, greeted her once again, and, once again, her mother was there.

"I'm sorry, Freya, honey. I lied to you, last time you were here." She had a pained smile, and her green, green eyes were dull.

"About what, mum?" She had her suspicions, of course, but it was up to her mum to confirm or deny them.

"About you only going back that once. Well, technically it is only once... You will be reborn, honey, into another world. I don't know where, but you will be reborn. However, that is that. You have one new world, with a new purpose, and until you have fulfilled that purpose, well, you can't die. After the purpose is fulfilled, however, you are mortal. Well, you can't die of old age unless you deliberately choose to do so; mortal wounds are still mortal, however, even if that doesn't cover quite as many as for muggles. And... you're an avatar of death, in essence. You have most of the perks, and none of the drawbacks! You can change into a raven and you can save lives, basically. The whole lifesaving thing you do just by willing it and marking the lives as yours, but keep in mind this: For every life you save, another is sacrificed – and you can't choose the sacrifice." Freya did not know why, but now, in a white, white void, dead and almost immortal, she absorbed the knowledge like a sponge, making sure that she would not forget any of this. A wry thought passed through her head - never before had her name been as appropriate as now; Freya, the Norse god of love, beauty, war and death.

"Very well. I can accept this, I guess. Just... Okay. Fine." She sighed resignedly, forgiving her mum without her even asking for it. It was for the best that she didn't know; had she known, she probably would not have lived as she did. "Well, then, where am I going?" The smile she gave her mum was impish at best, and Lily laughed, surprised.

With one last, beaming – even if it was slightly hesitant – smile, Freya started to fade away, and soon enough, Lily was left alone in a vast, white void.

"Good luck, sweetie."

* * *

**This is the very first part of my NaNo project. After this, there will be so many one-shots it's impossible to imagine the sheer volume of written pages.**


End file.
